


more than words

by Emmar



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Autistic Connor, Gen, Non-verbal Connor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-28 00:47:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15037004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmar/pseuds/Emmar
Summary: The fact that he doesn't speak, he knows, does not endear him to his human partner, Lieutenant Anderson.Connor is non-verbal, and it changes things as much as it doesn't.





	more than words

**Author's Note:**

> Non-verbal Connor is an idea that ambushed me and wouldn't let go. Whilst I am autistic, I'm not non-verbal - I'm hyper-verbal, if anything - so if my portrayal is inaccurate, I apologise. Also, I wanted to play more with the fact that Connor is, technically, a machine.
> 
> But an autistic one.

The fact that he doesn't speak, he knows, does not endear him to his human partner, Lieutenant Anderson. If anything, it makes it easier for him to think of Connor as nothing but a machine-- which he _is_ , but…

Connor was designed for seamless integration into an investigative unit, and verbal communication is an important part of that.

It is not a glitch or error that carries across his model - the first field test model successfully talked down a deviant, though it ultimately had to sacrifice itself to preserve the life of the human child - and it is clear Amanda disapproves, but he is bringing in results, leads on deviants, and so she hasn't had him decommissioned. Yet.

“Listen up, you plastic prick,” hisses Detective Reed, less than an inch away from Connor's face, “you're a machine, I'm a human, so you _do as I say._  Got it?”

Connor has not been told to follow orders from anyone but Lieutenant Anderson, but as soon as he considers opening his mouth and _saying_ so, his system floods his visual field with error warnings, so he discards it. Detective Reed does not need to know that, after all.

Of course, his silence serves only to further antagonise the human, so though Connor does not feel pain and cannot have the wind knocked out of him, he makes the decision to allow Detective Reed to believe his assault is effective. He stays crouched on the floor of the break room until his aural sensors inform him that the detective is out of eye- and earshot, and then stands, straightens his tie, and lets out a silent sigh. A brief scan reveals no damage, and no outward sign of the confrontation, and so the lieutenant is unlikely to question him.

Not, he acknowledges, that the lieutenant would be likely to question him even should he meet him at his desk with a bloodied nose.

By the time Lieutenant Anderson returns, Connor has scanned his entire desk, and his social module informs him of several possibilities for initiating conversation, but-- again, errors flood his vision, and so he settles for sitting in silence.

“They not bother programming you with anything but that stupid-ass introduction?”

Connor gives him a brief, sheepish smile, and shrugs one shoulder.

The lieutenant studies him for a long moment, then heaves a sigh and says, “Terminal’s right there.”

Connor takes the hint for what it is, nods to show he's paying attention, and connects to the terminal. It takes less than a second to download all of the department's files on deviants, but there is nothing immediately available to follow up on. The lieutenant, apparently reading his faint frown as confirmation of such, declares that he is going for lunch, and leaves Connor frowning into space.

\---

Connor rarely finds his inability to speak truly problematic, but he cannot deny it would be much easier if he could simply _tell_ Lieutenant Anderson of his deductions, rather than leaving the man almost entirely ignorant. He settles for pressing the deviant's removed LED into the human's hand as he crouches to inspect the birdcage.

The knowledge that the deviant is still in the apartment makes Connor let out a soundless huff. If he could speak, he would simply inform the lieutenant, quietly, but as it is he can only move on, attempt to flush the deviant out. He manages, just before the deviant drops from the ceiling, to let out a garbled, static-filled sound in an attempt to warn the human, but the deviant simply flees.

The chase, at least, is simple; choices and risk factors and percentages, laid out in clean code, things he can _understand_ , can _work_ with-- until he bursts into the roof and sees the lieutenant stumble from the edge of the roof, cling on in panic.

His programming tells him to chase the deviant, his sensors tell him the lieutenant has an 89% chance of survival, more than enough, but-- _but_ \--

Something in Connor _stutters,_  and he makes haste to the roof’s edge, hauling the lieutenant to safety.

“Connor,” says Lieutenant Anderson, pausing at the stairwell door, “thanks.”

Connor's bright smile is not entirely a result of his programming.

\---

A staticky noise of alarm escapes Connor as the large dog - a St Bernard, evidently the dog that shed on Lieutenant Anderson's coat - accosts him. He puts his hands up defensively, and after a moment moves to slowly stroke the dog's head. It allows it for a moment, then huffs, takes two steps away, and lays down.

Connor removes any possible weapons from the lieutenant's reach before he attempts to wake him, sets the empty bottle and the revolver on the table beside the photograph - Connor's scanning module provides the name _Cole Anderson_ without prompting, along with a date of death - and then slaps Lieutenant Anderson awake.

“Sumo, attack!”

Sumo, Connor thinks, and smiles as he files the knowledge of the dog's name away in his databanks.

He lets Lieutenant Anderson scream for a moment beneath the cold spray before he turns the water off, then snaps his fingers until he is certain he has the man's attention.

 _Case,_  he signs, as clearly as he can. American Sign Language is not one of the languages he was programmed with, but he has dispensation to download any informational modules that will assist in his investigation, and he'd made the decision on his way here that communicating with his partner was rapidly becoming vital to their work.

“What?”

Apparently the lieutenant is not conversational in ASL. Connor scowls, wondering how he's going to get this across when his primary - only, if he's being honest - form of communication is not known to his partner, and said partner is exceptionally drunk besides. No getting around it, he concedes a moment later, and takes a deep, unnecessary breath to fortify himself.

“C-c-ccassssse,” he manages, voice crackling with static, struggling through error messages and a vague feeling of vertigo, and turns on his heel and makes for the lieutenant's bedroom to find him clean clothes without waiting for a response. He picks the first things he finds, returns to set them on the bathroom floor, and leaves again.

Sumo looks up as he enters the living room, large eyes mournful, and Connor indulges in the urge to pet him. He realises, when his hand makes contact with the animal, that he is shaking, but after a moment the tremors settle.

“Sss-- Zzz-- Ssszzzuuuum-m-mo,” he says, as quietly as possible to reduce the static interference, and it is much less… unpleasant than speaking to the lieutenant was. Perhaps the vertigo is lessened because he is already sitting. Perhaps it is because an animal is incapable of judging him in the same fashion a human is. He cannot articulate, even within his own thought processes, why speaking is such anathema to him in the first place. He dismisses it as ultimately unimportant, and focuses instead on the soft texture of Sumo's fur.

This is how the lieutenant finds him, and whilst he is aware of the human's presence, he does not acknowledge it, just keeps stroking Sumo gently.

“Alright,” Lieutenant Anderson says, after a moment, “let's get going.”

\---

Interacting with the androids at the Eden Club is, despite their function, the easiest thing Connor's done all day. Whilst direct connection can parse communication as words, images work just as well. Despite his hesitation, his ultimate decision to allow the two WR400 models - the _Tracis_ \- to leave, the conflicting _feeling_ he's left with, this one case has been _simple._

He misses simple.

\---

When Lieutenant Anderson levels the gun at him, Connor feels a frisson of-- _something_ course through him, and when the man asks if he feels _fear,_  he opens his mouth and a small, indistinct burst of static escapes.

The lieutenant states at him for a moment, and then finally, finally lowers the gun.

\---

As Connor crawls across the floor of the broadcast room's kitchen, vision stuttering and error messages flashing up and dismissing themselves just as quickly, he forces himself to speak and hates himself, _hates_ himself, when he can't even manage to call out the lieutenant's name, only a croak of feedback.

But he'd _wanted_ to.

As he stares at the deviant he just gunned down, aware that Amanda will be yet closer to deciding on his decommissioning, all he can think is that he'd _wanted to call out_.

\---

He stares at the deviant leader, at _Markus_ , and is slowly aware that he's shaking, that there's a staticky buzz in the air that's emanating from his throat, uncontrollably.

He tears down the wall.

\---

Hank staggers out of the rows and rows of androids, hands raised, with a split lip and a burgeoning black eye.

“Asshole threatened to shoot Sumo when he realised I didn't give a shit about my own life,” Hank apologises, and Connor spares him a strained, crooked smile.

Held at gunpoint by Hank for the second time, Connor feels strangely at peace. The RK800 - it doesn't deserve his name - is wisely staying silent, but Connor knows their memories aren't _identical_. There are things he's not foolish enough to upload to CyberLife, even when he believed he was doing the right thing. Self-preservation is written into his code, after all.

So he opens his mouth and lets out the same small, indistinct sound he had on the bridge.

Hank fires.

\---

Connor fists his hands in the back of Hank's jacket and takes a deep breath of the crisp, cold morning air.

“H-hhh-an-k. Hhhank. Hank.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hank definitely goes out and buys a copy of ASL For Dummies.
> 
> Evil Connor has most of Connor's memories, but has no context for _why_ he hasn't spoken, so he did and Hank knew it wasn't his Connor. Hence the black eye and split lip.


End file.
